


Songs for Stray Cats

by Indybaggins



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: F/M, Friendship/Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indybaggins/pseuds/Indybaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She likes the noise of the city, dusty thrift shops and old scratched up records...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Songs for Stray Cats

**Author's Note:**

> Written for clayangel. I normally never write het, but I figured I’d risk it just this once *g*. Happy birthday! <3  
> [](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/indybaggins/media/28besthet2012a_zps5eeb4379.png.html)  
> [](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/indybaggins/media/18bestjosie2012_zps148870c5.png.html)  
> 

 

 

Greg falls in love with Jen’s mind. Her razor-sharp wit, her sarcasm, her intricate understanding of politics and love of Renaissance art. She has an encyclopedical, frank and passionate knowledge of everything that has ever interested him. She is perfect. 

Their first date they spend the entire night in her designer kitchen, talking and sipping expensive wine, only stopping, both hoarse, when the light outside starts getting brighter and birds start singing hesitantly. On the way home, his legs unsteady, head spinning with the sound of her voice still, crumpled jacket thrown over his shoulder, Greg knows he is going to marry her. 

They haven’t even kissed yet. 

 

And then two years later he flies out to England and meets Josie. 

It’s winter time in London with brand new comedy exploding all around them, strings of pubs and cafés, Josie’s friends who draw around her as if she is fire, her laughter, the color of her lipstick, her glittering eyes when she sings. And Greg has never felt that sense of instant belonging before, the easy camaraderie, the warmth. 

If it was Jen’s mind, then this is Josie’s soul because he can’t even qualify it, only that he has never laughed as much in his life or felt as free as he does around her. Josie is one of the boys, boisterous, a bohemian. He likes her because she is playful, because she scrunches up her nose at him, because she’s a messy drunk and loud and incredibly talented and so very unapologetically herself. He feels as if she lights up a room, she lights _him_ up and he stays later and later each night, more and more days every time he comes to London. 

Their first kiss is outside a pub when she takes Greg’s hand and tangles her fingers with his teasingly.

It’s the first time Greg has ever cheated on Jen in any way, and he should feel guilty, but Josie is nothing like Jen at all. Jen gets distant, when there is too much emotion. She looks at him as if she can’t trust him, as if she doesn’t know who he is. Jen is electric, always in motion, she likes to be right, she argues and tricks him, she never takes no for an answer and moves like handfuls of quivering butterflies, always hurried and focused. 

Josie is all slow, swirling sensation. She tastes his lips and his skin as if she can’t get enough of it, as if she’ll get only one chance, and he can tell she is _tasting_ , not just kissing. She smells like hair spray, cheap cigarettes and patchouli soap, and he breathes her in while she traces his jaw with slightly damp fingertips. The kiss lingers, and eventually she hits his chest. “You infuriating man,” Josie says into his neck, her voice low with laughter and something heavier. 

“You infuriating woman,” Greg says, and he sounds too gravelly and too fond at the same time. He furtively presses a quick kiss to her nose, the exact way he’s been wanting to for months. She laughs openly. 

He kisses her again on the corner of that street, people and cars and a slow rain passing them by, and Josie holds on to the lapels of his jacket, wrinkles them as her hands clench and unclench on his chest. Greg puts his hands on her back, her waist, presses her closer and closer as if by touching her he’ll get to keep her. It’s a forever in that small moment in London. 

Later she pulls his arm and they walk towards her home, her bed. Greg furtively searches Josie’s face for guilt, but finds none, only pleasure and mirth and god, love. His lips feel swollen and hot when he licks them, he knows they must have some of her lipstick on them. He can see the irritation on her cheeks from his not-perfectly shaved face. He wants her so much. 

Then there’s the light of the candles Josie lights for him, her body golden in their glow. She’s gorgeous, of course, and when she steps into his arms, presses their bodies together, the shock of it, rain-chilled skin to skin, seems so novel. ‘Cheating shouldn’t be beautiful,’ he thinks, and then realizes he is wrong, so wrong. 

There’s a second time, that night, a third the next morning, and it’s not enough, Greg doesn’t get enough of her, she could touch him in exactly the same way every day and he would never tire of it. So he memorizes all the little things about her, locks them up somewhere deep inside his body to be replayed whenever he can’t have her. 

Josie quotes Janis Joplin lyrics at him at night. She likes the noise of the city, dusty thrift shops and old scratched up records. She puts out cat food on her roof and sings to the throngs of shaggy strays that show up. She sucks his toes when she realizes he’s ticklish. She hits him across the head when he says something stupid. Sometimes she forgets to brush her hair.

She lets him go, when he has to, and is still there when he returns, again and again, for many more years than he deserves. 

Greg tells jokes to the soft skin of her belly. He rubs a cold thumb over the fabric of her bra, catches a nipple hardening. He sleeps with her when they’re both too drunk to remember anything the next morning. He holds her even when there’s another man’s clothes in her closet and scent in her bed. He loves her because he wants to, needs to feel her, because it hurts not to, which is nearly all the time. 

He laughs with her and always admires her and she’s oddly very much his best friend, still, even after everything. 

She’s his heart, perhaps.

 

 

 

 


End file.
